The Elevator
by American HOT Fender
Summary: It certainly wasn't how Helga Shortman had planned to spend her day. Trapped in an 8x7 space with her soon to be ex-husband. 1 elevator, 2 people, 6 hours. Will they kill each other or rekindle their love?
1. Love Don't Live Here

Disclaimer: I don't own Hey Arnold or anything else I might mention.

Summary: It certainly wasn't how Helga Shortman had planned to spend her day. Trapped in a 5x7 space with her estranged husband. 1 elevator, 2 people, 6 hours. Will they kill each other or rekindle their love?

**A/N:** Well, this is my newest little diddly. As much as I love my little comedy I couldn't stay away from the drama. To be fair, this isn't going to be very long. 5 chapters or so. This is sort of a moment in time sort of thing with some slight eleventh hour type tension. Just Helga and Arnold, trying to figure out their marital issues. I'm obsessed with exploring common people problems. It's a disorder, really.

* * *

**Love Don't Live Here**

"What I'm asking includes the equipment, our state accounts, two developments on stage one, and this warehouse. The lot is under lease, with an option to buy in 5 years or re-negotiate another 5-year lease." 34 year old Helga Shortman said as she strolled through her business head quarters, brushing her hand softly over a piece of heavy machinery, feeling the dust and...the memories-the hopes and dreams-smear into the ridges if her finger prints. Now, now it was just particles of filth, the ultimate betrayal of cleanliness, the remains of a once bright future, for in death everything returns to dust.

Wasn't she being _ever _the poet.

She turned, wiping her hand off and faced the couple that she'd momentarily forgotten were trailing along behind her. The man stood cross armed, looking every which away. The woman looked clueless. In fact they both looked a little clueless and it gave the pit of her stomach an obnoxious feeling. "Any questions?" she chirped.

"So, uh, what'd you say your reason for selling this was?" the man inquired.

Helga all but forced a tight smile, "Divorce," she said sharply.

"Oh..." The pair suddenly looked uncomfortable.

"My husband grew a pair of wings. Which is why this is an _'as-is'_ business. No training other than presenting you with our finacials for the past 2 years will be provided."

The man shifted with uncertainty, reaching up and dragging his hand across the back of his neck, "Oh, uh...see we were under the impression that there would be some kind of training. I just don't think we're prepared to pay what you want without some guidance to get it started."

"Have you ever owned a construction business before?"

"No. This would be our very first business ever."

Helga sighed and rubbed her newly throbbing temple, "Of course it is." she dropped her hand at her side, "And you obviously didn't read the ad, either so, nice meeting you, the door is _that_ way, have a nice life."

"Hey, you don't have to be so rude, lady."

"Listen bucko, I left work early to come down here for you to rummage through my business, after answering an ad you clearly didn't read, because if you had, you wouldn't be standing here whining about some training, wasting my time."

* * *

"Seriously, I don't know why it's so hard for people to read. Just read," Helga complained into the phone later that night. She stood at the kitchen pushing the contents of stir fry around in a sauté pan. "I mean, I have _got_ to get out from under this thing soon. I don't know what I'm going to do if I can't...well yeah but...realistically what am I going to do? Filing for bankruptcy won't prevent me from losing our house. Like I've said, I'm not joking when I say he took off with every cent that we had. Hold on a sec Pheebs..." Helga requested, hearing a beep. When she saw it was Brainy trying to phone in, she clicked over, and told him she'd call him back.

"Sorry, that was Brian," She apologized to Phoebe, "Oh don't even…don't _even_ start. There's _nothing_ going on between us...besides, even if there was..." She looked over to the table at her 7 year old son and 5 year old daughter, "My you-know-what will be final tomorrow whether you-know-_who_ shows up or not. I know, I know. Well let me go, I've got mouths to feed. Alright, I will. Tell Gerald I said hello...bye."

Helga tossed her phone onto the counter and hauled the pan of stir fry over to the kitchen table, "Alright my darlings, eat up." She spooned a couple healthy portions onto the plates and sat down. Her son Phillip began digging in immediately, that kid never had to be told twice to eat, but Natalie, her youngest (and pickiest) began suspiciously rooting through the medley with her fork.

"I picked out all of the shrimp," Helga told her.

"What's that?" The young girl pointed to her food.

"It's a baby corn. Eat it its good."

"Daddy never put them in it when _he_ made it."

Helga had to fight the tinge of annoyance that crept through her at any reference to her soon to be ex-husband. "Daddy picked them out. Just scoot it to the edge of your plate if you don't want them."

Phil quickly stabbed a piece with his fork. "I'll take them."

"Hey!" Natalie barked.

"You didn't want them," Her brother taunted through a mouth full of food. "You snooze you lose!"

"Mom!"

Helga let out a tired sigh, "Either you want them or you don't Nat."

The petite girl huffed one last time and begrudgingly pushed the remainder of the offending vegetable to the rim of the plate for her sibling to have. Helga continued her meal in relative silence, exhaustion finally beginning to cast a blanket over her for the night. The days were long, and even more so since she hadn't been sleeping. Sleeping _well _anyway. Who was she kidding; it was a good night if she could get 5 hours of sleep. A real good night. With the stress of her job, her kids, her impending divorce, and her crumbling finances, there was a lot to lie awake and dwell upon.

It had been a very rough year and 4 months in the Shortman household. The storm was passing, but the destruction it was leaving was even worse.

She got up, she went to work, she picked up her kids, they ate dinner, they went to bed. Her life had turned into a vicious routine, and it was maddening.

And extremely disconnecting.

Anymore, she felt entirely disconnected from her kids. She didn't want to be, or mean to be, she was just so busy worrying about their well-being amidst this mess that she forgot to actually be mom.

At times, she was convinced that she'd forgotten how to be Helga too. Fun-loving, who occasionally took herself too seriously, with a spit fire temper and a heart of gold. Who was that girl again? Where was she again?

Buried beneath the layers of stress she wore around like a winter coat more than likely. She didn't want to think about it, but she constantly thought about, morning, noon and night she thought about it.

After the kids were fed, homework done, and put to bed, her only solace for the long day-what she did almost every night-was stewing in the hot tub on the back deck and having a glass or two of red wine. The water just worked wonders on those bunched muscles, pulled taut from hypertension. Lord knows her body was a giant knot by the time she slipped beneath the warm, foamy water. She could feel the tension being licked away, and it was lovely, if only temporary. Interestingly enough, she'd never used it much up until now. Arnold had bought the thing and had been its primary user. He swore that after trekking around development sites in steel toe boots all day, it was better than a massage. Perhaps he'd been right, she was certainly benefiting from its effects.

In the swirl of her relaxation, she heard a car ease up into her driveway, peeking her curiosity about who would be there at that hour. She heard the engine shut off, a door open and close and the latch to the gate jiggle open.

"Jesus, Brian, you about gave me a heart attack!" She scolded when she saw his familiar pale form in the moonlight. Then the motion lights kicked on.

"Sorry." He quickly closed the gap, "You weren't picking up your phone. Figured I check to make sure you hadn't officially had a break down," He smirked. Helga looked up at her friend, partially annoyed by the assumption yet, knowing herself that it was a plausible one to make. There had been a few days where she'd been close.

"Yeah, I left my phone in the house. It completely slipped my mind to call you back," Helga said in an apologetic voice. Brian waved it off. "Getting in or what?"

"I don't have my swim shorts with me."

Helga tossed him an amused eye-roll, "That's your excuse? I seem to recall a fourth-of-July party about three-years-ago when you stripped down to your boxers and got in. Drunk as a-"

"-Ha...ha," Brian cut her off, not wishing to relive that moment, "I'll dip my feet. Will that make you happy?" He conceded, kicking off his sneakers and rolling his pants legs up to his knees. He slid his pasty white legs into the simmering liquid. Aside from Phoebe, Brainy was arguably her other best friend, and when everything had been peachy keen, they still had a pretty solid group from the old neighborhood going.

"How'd your showing go today?"

"Waste of my freaking time," She tossed back a mouthful of wine, not eager to discuss the subject and he didn't bother with the details.

"Well, hopefully _somebody_ will come along."

"Yeah," She spitefully snorted, "When it's too late."

Brainy couldn't think of anything to say. There wasn't much to be said. The situation was the situation. He shrugged it off and put on a smile, "Want a shoulder massage?" He twiddled his fingers at her.

"If you're offering, then yes!" His fingers where magic, no other way of describing them, and she wasted no time pouring herself a second glass of wine and sliding between his knees. His nimble digits went to work rubbing out kinks and the like.

"Nervous about tomorrow?"

Helga shrugged, "At this point, I'm just ready to be through with it all."

Brainy hummed, "Well, I certainly can sympathize with that. Any word on if he's coming?"

"Not a clue. I don't know _where_ he is. I kind of wonder if his lawyer even knows _where_ he is." She took a gulp of wine, "We'll see, I guess."

"Same outcome regardless I suppose."

"Exactly," She agreed. A minute or so crept by with the two of them just listening to the bubbling of the water in comfortable silence, Helga sipping her wine and Brian kneading a spot between her shoulder blades. Then, out of the blue, she groaned and he thought he'd hit a sore spot, "I've got a pile of manuscripts sitting on my bed that aren't going to read themselves."

Brian stopped, and even though she couldn't see him, gave her an appalled look, "You're barely sleeping as it is and you're bringing work home with you?"

Helga sighed. She moved from between his legs, over the edge where she propped her elbows up and took a sip from her glass, "I'm the senior editor, B. People didn't stop writing books just so I could have a personal crisis you know."

"I know that. Just…take it easy. You're going to kill yourself."

* * *

**The Following Day**

11:45 a.m. She was 15 minutes early, but she hoped that she could get in and out as quickly as possible, scrolling her John Hancock on the dotted line and wiping her hands clean of him. Of course, that would be the easiest part of the entire ordeal. Picking up the pieces and getting on with her life after over a year of turmoil, now that was a horse of an entirely different color. Then there were arrangements with the kids that needed to be settled. She'd be free of him, but it didn't even begin to solve her problems. With a deep resolved breath, she pushed through a pair of heavy glass doors, walking into a well decorated lobby bustling with lunch hungry professionals.

She skipped to the elevator, waiting less than a second for it to come available before hopping in. Her number was pressed and she began watching the brass colored doors come together, but before they met, a hand thrusted between, parting them like the red sea.

Helga's jaw dropped, "Of all the Goddamn elevators," she complained allowed, making absolutely sure he heard. Of course he had to do a double take as well, yet it didn't stop him from catching another lift. "Panama Jack lives after all."

For his part, Arnold didn't seem to react, merely tossing her his usual look while he stepped to the opposite end, "Hey Helga." It had literally been 10 months since she'd seen him in the flesh. 10 months. He looked different, yet the same. He had this knack for always looking like he hadn't shaven in three days. His hair was longer, much longer, long enough that he had it pulled back into a Gavin Rossdale man bun. His skin was especially sun dried and, at least in his face, he looked thinner. Then there were those lips that her eyes fell upon, still as soft and supple looking as ever, easily one of her favorite parts of him…aside from his eyes. The longer she looked at him the more irritated she became.

"I'm surprised you came. How's play time with the Russian been?" She harshly asked, thinning her eyes at him.

"Helga, I'm not going to argue with you. It hasn't been like that so just leave it alone."

"You want me to leave it alone? Like in the way you left me alone? With our kids and your business that I have no clue how to run?"

Arnold propped his hands on his hips and turned to shower her with a well placed glower, "Oh come on! You make it sound as if I did everything on purpose! I certainly didn't file for this divorce!"

Helga was immediately confounded, staring back at him with just as dirty of a look, "And I certainly didn't give _myself_ a cause for divorce either!" she shot back.

Her husband held her stare, and his jaw set, "You'll get what you want Helga, but like I told you, you blew everything out of proportion. I told you that I was sorry, I can't take it back, so I don't know what more you wanted."

That was when she felt ever fiber of her collective rational snap like a dry brittle twig. Her fist balled at her side and she took a very shake, very heavy breath, "Sorry?" Her eyes blackened with her tone, "You walked out on us Arnold! And for what?! So you could go traipsing around in the jungle because of what some stranger told you?! And don't get me started on the Russian and the phone call and—"

"-I found her." Arnold blurted out. Helga snapped her mouth shut. His soft eyes fell from her face and onto the floor and he took a breath, "Two months ago."

"Your mother…" Helga breathed. She wouldn't get his answer, because no sooner had the words fluttered past her lips, the elevator began to shake violently, the sound of metal grinding, sheering through the little box in angry haste.

* * *

**A/N:** Alright this is the start. So what's Arnold been up to for the past year and four months? Who's the Russian, the stranger and the phone call? Stay tuned. Read, Review, all that jazz.


	2. You, Me and a Lie

Disclaimer: I don't own Hey Arnold or anything else I might mention.

Summary: It certainly wasn't how Helga Shortman had planned to spend her day. Trapped in an 8x7 space with her estranged husband. 1 elevator, 2 people, 6 hours. Will they kill each other or rekindle their love?

**A/N:** I'm so happy about the positive response from this story! I wasn't really sure if it would go over well. I know it was probably a little vague and at the end, Helga and Arnold's argument a little confusing but…it was sort of meant to set up the conflict while keeping everything in the dark while the story begins unraveling.

* * *

**You, Me and a Lie**

"Oh no! Oh God!" Helga yelled over the whining metal as she extended both arms to the walls, bracing herself amidst the sputtering shakes and heaves. Whatever was happening was not good, not good at all. The lights began flickering wildly, furthering the disorientation that was relentlessly punching her in the senses.

"Helga!" Panic infused eyes darted across the elevator and locked with Arnold's stricken greens. She watched him begin stumbling towards her with a set jaw, a clear mission in his mind. He lost his footing and nearly toppled over once before gathering her into his arms and pushing the two of them into the corner. And for her part, she let him, having no problem with it.

They were about to die. She was absolutely certain of it. This was how she would go out; mangled to bits in an elevator that was about to go careening to the bottom of its shaft, buried in the chest of her would be ex-husband. Not that she minded his presence all that much at that particular point in time. It was _slightly_ better than dying alone.

Lurching.

Grinding.

Prayers began hissing past her quivering lips, her eyes screwed shut. Nothing makes one more religious than impending death, and Helga was certainly no exception to that rule. She felt Arnold's arms tighten around her, whispering something that she couldn't quite make out before—

Everything stopped.

The grinding, the winding, the lurching.

It became dead stillness.

The lights continued to flicker on and off, on and off with a metallic ping that was like a ringing bell in the sudden void of silence left behind. Arnold's shaky breath puffed hotly into her hair. She could hear how wild his heart was beating in his chest, in tandem with her own. Neither said it, but both were definitely thinking it.

Don't. Move. For the love of God. _Don't._

They were terrified to move a muscle, afraid that if they did something _would_ break loose and send them plummeting into the basement.

That's when the warm yellow lights flickered off for good. It remained pitch black for a moment before a set of dim fluorescent bulbs sputtered on, cloaking the cab and its occupants in deathly pale illumination and leaving them feeling even less secure than before.

Arnold looked up at the new lights and whispered, "Generator…"

Helga cautiously peered up at his face, "What does that mean?" she kept her voice low, though she wasn't sure _why_ exactly, other then it made her _feel _safer.

"That the elevator still has a power source," he answered as matter-of-factly, "And that we can still call out on the emergency phone, _hopefully_." he looked down at her, into her worried blue eyes that were desperately seeking reassurance. It was only then that he realized he still had her wrapped up in the corner, and it was as close to her as he'd been in ten months. Something that his body and his heart were achingly aware of, and not wanting to lose focus of their current peril, he begrudgingly released his grip on her and took a cautiously light step backwards. "Don't move," he instructed and held his hand out as if to say 'stop.'

"_Arnold!_ Don't—" She strained harshly when he began not only creeping away but towards the panel located below the rows of buttons. Why she bothered, she didn't know. He never ever listened anyway. But he made it without incident and pulled out the fire engine red phone and pressed the call button. Helga remained in the corner breathing small huffs, relieved that his movements didn't send them rocketing downwards.

"Hello?" Arnold perked, "Yes, yes, yes! I…I don't know what happened, we were going up and it started violently shaking and…yeah—no, the generators kicked on. Okay…right…right. Okay, let me ask you something: is there any danger of this thing…Oh…uh-huh. Well, it sounded really bad. Yeah…we'll be here. Thanks." he sat the phone back on its hanger, looking more at ease than before as he turned to Helga.

"They're calling their maintenance technicians," he told her and she nodded, "Unfortunately since they outsource to a 3rd party it could take them up to an hour to even get here."

"Oh great. This thing is likely to fall and kill us both before they can even get here."

"She said it wouldn't fall. There is some sort of braking…safety system in the shaft that prevents that. They could see the sensors tripped so…it's stuck until they manually release them…and fix whatever else went wrong," he finished and then proceeded to lean back against the wall and glide a still shaky hand over his head.

Helga looked off to the side, shaking her head in displeasure. "So we're just stuck then, huh?"

"Yep."

She looked over at him once more and muttered, "Lovely," before dropping her purse to the floor and pulling off her heels.

Arnold watched her slide off of each familiar black pump, knowing how much she hated those shoes, but tortured her feet anyway, only because they looked great on her. He'd never understand it. "Yeah, you're right," he finally agreed, "Might as well get comfortable. We're probably going to be here awhile." he pulled his messenger bag over his head and let it fall to the floor before sitting down beside it.

Helga's nerves were still too frazzled to even be annoyed with his observantness, though she did manage to cast him the briefest look—the one that she often gave their children when her patience was wearing thin. Not like he noticed or anything. She was just flustered, after all, five minutes prior, she had thought she was going to die, now she was stuck in a situation that she didn't want to be in, and suddenly real perturbed by her choice of dress that day because it was going to be a challenge trying to maneuver to the floor without flashing everything.

Then again, who was she hiding from? It wouldn't be anything he hadn't seen before.

She finally just slid to the floor and leaned back against the wall, letting her head rest. Almost immediately she began to feel the adrenalin that had been pumping so vigorously moments earlier, reseed like an ocean's tide. A draining bathtub would be more accurate. In her exhaustion and stress, she was left feeling almost _unbearably_ fatigued, and she feared she might not have the energy to get back up if needed.

Across the elevator, Arnold had noticed. He peered at her with a concern that was border line worriment, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Her voice was sharp, cold.

Yet, it did little to sway him. "Are you sure because you look—"

"-Arnold, my nerves are shot, okay? Is that okay with you?"

"Sorry for asking…" Arnold resigned and looked off elsewhere to avoid her thinned blue eyes. Once he was off her case, Helga grabbed her phone from her purse and sent a quick text to her lawyer and a brief email to her boss, informing him of her situation…as incredible as it was.

Who got stuck in an elevator? Really? How often does it happen?

Of course, in her pondering of her predicament, she happened to recall once reading an article that stated on average, thirteen people a year died from vending machines falling on them. And if there was a statistic for something as unbelievably outrageous as _that_, then she supposed that anything really _was_ possible. Including getting trapped in an elevator…with her estranged husband…whom she hadn't seen in ten months.

Her boss emailed back almost immediately with. 'life can be stranger than fiction.'

Ah, editor humor.

For the next hour she spent the time, in silence, diligently catching up on emails and the like that she'd been putting off for the last week. Every once and awhile she would peek under her lashes at him just sitting there, mindlessly twiddling his thumbs in his lap like a child.

"Remember on our honeymoon when we purposefully stalled our hotel's elevator?" Arnold suddenly asked out of the blue, a smirk gleefully pulling the corner of his mouth upward. Helga _purposefully_ ignored him, not feeling in the slightest like joining him in nostalgic good times. He seemed unfazed, chortling to himself and continuing, "Two a.m. after roaming around Prague all night. We hit the emergency button and—"

"-If your intention is to get me to stroll down memory lane in hopes that I'll somehow forgive you, then you're wasting your breath," She sharply cut him off.

Her husband frowned. "I was just pointing out the ironies is all."

"Fine," Helga huffed, throwing her phone into her purse in aggravation, "Point them out to _yourself_ because I don't care."

"Come on Helga, the silence is deafening."

"Arnold, I really don't have anything to _say_ to you, and the few things that I _do_ have to say, you won't like very much, so in the interest of making this…situation," she paraded her hand around the elevator, "As _civil_ as possible, its best to just keep your mouth _shut_."

Arnold's normally agreeable and easy going nature began to falter slightly as he listened to her hypocrisy, "At least I had something pleasant to say. You began ripping into me the second I stepped on the elevator! Heed your own advice."

"Oh, excuse _me!_" Helga appallingly drew back, "I haven't seen you in ten freakin' months! I'm sorry if I had a thing or two to get off my chest!"

"Okay, fine!" Arnold held his hands up in a measure of acceptance and defeat. "I know I deserved to hear that but—"

"-But what?" Helga sneered venomously. "What justification could you _possibly_ have for anything that I've said to you? Hmm? Really, I want to hear it."

Arnold deflated, dropping his chin to his chest and closed his eyes. He shook his head. "I'm not going to justify anything," He then looked back up at her, "I haven't seen you in months. I just want to _talk_ to you."

"It's called a phone. You didn't mind using one when you—"

"-You wouldn't have answered anyway, Helga, and you know it!"

Helga sighed, rolling her eyes, "Then you must not have wanted to talk to me too badly, because if you had you would have picked up the phone and had I ignored you, trucked your butt home. No, you dropped a bombshell on me and then scurried back to the jungle with—"

"-You told me not to _come_ back home!" Arnold defended.

Helga could only stare at him in utter amazement. "And since _when_ have you _ever_ listened?!"

"Since I didn't want to make a scene! Alright? I knew that coming home would mean me having to move out of our house and I didn't want our kids seeing that…or seeing us get into an argument. If I stayed gone at least everything remained normal for a little longer. So I have. I've stayed away. And I poured myself into San Lorenzo to keep from going _crazy_ because of having to stay away from you."

"Normal?" Helga drawled incredulously. "You call dumping your family for over a year, keeping everything _normal_?"

Arnold's posture slumped. Suddenly he felt the shameful guilt he toted around begin weighing heavily on his shoulders. He knew she was right. "No, it's not," He pathetically sighed, "But the kids—"

"Arnold, what difference at this point does it make?" Helga exacerbated, "You've already been excused from our lives."

"I don't want to be excused! I want to come home! That's what I want!" Arnold barked, "I made a mistake and I'm sorry, but I don't want this! I just want to forget every bit of it and come home and go back to being normal again."

"Normal?!" Helga howled in spiteful laughter. "There's that word again. Is this the _new_ normal, _honey?_ Is this the new normal for husbands like you?"

She was furious, angry, spiteful, betrayed…hurt. It wasn't just her voice, her words; it was the color of her eyes, that steely electric blue that rocked her pupils like boats on a stormy ocean. With razor sharp precision, they were slicing right through his soul. His heart was beating, it was aching, and it was tearing at the seams with each pump. It kept him alive, but he wasn't living. His eyes were dulled windows, glazed over with a dusting of regret and desperation. "I just want to come home and be with you and are children," he murmured.

Helga shot him joyless smirk, and shook her head, "You want to know what there _is_ to come home to, Arnold?"

The blonde headed man looked up at her non-flinching form, back at those fitful eyes, but for the first time since seeing her that day he saw helplessness in her face. Maybe it was the way her eyes were starting to shimmer, the way her eyebrows were slightly pulled together like something was hurting her, all in spite of her hardened tone towards him.

Arnold opened his mouth in reply but—

_Ring._

His attention jerked to the unexpected intrusion. He wanted to ask her, but the auto pilot in him immediately grabbed for the emergency phone, casting Helga one last look before, "Hello?"

* * *

**One Year and Four Months Prior**

Helga would openly admit that it didn't really look like much to her. A sizable chunk of land that dipped, and bobbed, scarred by deep ridges left behind from the tractors that had removed every speck of vegetation from its surface, save for a few elderly trees. To her eyes, it looked a mess, but her husband stood beside her, holding Natalie and beaming out over the clearing, his eyes smiling in a way to told her that it was special, even if she didn't see it yet.

"What do you think?" he asked, grinning widely at her. "Future home of 'Brighton Heights'."

Helga smirked and propped a hand up on her hip, "I think that…I'll be amazed if you can turn this into a neighborhood, _football head_," she lovingly goaded. Seventeen years together-married for ten of those- and she had _still_ yet to retire her most famous pet name for him.

Some things never changed, and she liked it that way.

"Don't you worry, I'll work my magic."

His wife snorted; "Yeah, I've heard _that_ before." she winked at him. Her husband merely shook his head, gifting her an amused look and a half smile. "Alright, what am I looking at here then? How are you going to _weave_ your magic?"

"He's going to take a big tractor and flatten it to smithereens and then roll out a road and put houses on it," Young Phil interjected, looking quite pleased with his concocted strategy.

Arnold beamed at his son and then quirked a brow at his wife, "You heard the Sir, that's exactly what I'm going to do."

"Smithereens huh?" Helga smirked, and Arnold and Phil nodded. "Alright, I can dig it," she agreed. "Seems like a huge development though."

"Well, that's why we're going to go in stages on this thing. Right here is going to be stage one. And if nothing goes too awry then at the back _there_," he pointed, "Is going to be stage two and three."

"Like acts in a book," Helga noted, nodding.

"Daddy?" Natalie asked.

"Hmm?"

"Can I have my own street when…when you finish?"

Arnold gingerly smiled at his daughter, "You know, I was thinking, we'd have. 'Sir Phillip Court' and 'Nat Bug Avenue' how's that?"

"Noooo," Natalie whined.

"What?" her father chuckled at her, "No Nat Bug?" she vehemently shook her head, "Alright well, how about 'Natalie Bee Avenue' then? You like that?"

Natalie nodded and smiled widely, "Yeah!"

Helga took the opportunity to cast her husband a coy look, "No 'Wifey Poo Lane'?" she joked.

"Well, we could. Though that would be some embarrassing postage for future residence," Arnold reasoned, continuing the charade with her.

"Oh what a shame." she snapped her fingers, "well, let's get home, it's getting late and—"

"I'm starving." Phil blurted out.

"-And your son's hungry."

* * *

"Everybody got enough pizza? Drink?" Helga asked. Her kids, who were seated on the floor at the coffee table, nodded their heads, eyes firmly fixed on the DVD menu screen, waiting for the movie they were about to watch. With that, the blonde planted down on the couch next to her husband, who handed her a plate.

"Hit play, dad!"

"Alright, alright, hey chew a little before you swallow-and don't spill anything on that table, it's a precious family heirloom!" he chuckled before mashing the play button on the remote.

They had gotten a good forty-five minutes into the animated Pixar gem, and quite comfortable on the couch, when of all things, the door bell rang. Helga and Arnold looked at each other with a modest amount of perplexity striking their features. "Who in the world could that be?" Helga pondered aloud as she sat up.

"I'm not expecting anybody," Arnold frowned and got up. Making his way to the door, tailed by Helga the entire way, he casually opened it.

Standing on the porch, basking in the golden yellow glow of the porch light was a small, brown skinned, black haired man. His face was deeply shadowed by the light and he had a Saharan rucksack slung over his shoulder. Arnold cleared his throat, "Can I help you?"

"You're Mr. Shortman?" The mysterious fellow inquired in return.

Arnold cautiously looked back over at Helga. Natalie and Phil had come to stand beside her. Turning back to the stranger, he stared down at him suspiciously, "Yes, I am."

The strange man appeared to sigh in relief, and a pair of brilliant white teeth materialized beneath his chapped lips, "Ok, very good. Very good," he pulled his rucksack around, pulling on the cord and began rooting through its contents, "My name is Hugo Tabora, and I have a great deal of things I need to show you uh…" he looked up, "Can I come in?"

Arnold frowned and shook his head, "I don't think so. I have no idea who you are."

Hugo tilted his head at Arnold, "You're Arnold P. Shortman. Your parents, Miles and Stella Shortman, charted a plane to San Lorenz thirty-three years ago. I think we may have discovered their plane."

Arnold's frown deepened and he stepped out the door, letting it briskly snap shut behind him, "Is this your idea of a joke?" he demanded.

Hugo stood his ground, staring up at the tall blonde before him, "Mr. Shortman, I don't have time for jokes, but what I do have time for, is showing you what I have to show you. So ill ask again, can I come inside?"

Arnold looked at Hugo closely before deciding that he at least appeared to be genuine in what he was saying. He sighed and opened the door, "After you."

* * *

Hugo rolled a large piece of parchment out onto the Shortman's dining room table. Helga and Arnold saw immediately that it was a large scale map of the San Lorenzo, Guatemala and Honduras. He next pulled out a decent sized full color aerial photograph and laid it on top of the map. "I took this photograph while part of a preservation observationist team that was surveilling the jungle eight months prior. This photo in particular interested me. You can see the impression of the jungle right there," He pointed. Helga and Arnold leaned over and looked where his finger lay. "It's not much but it's definitely a disturbance and it doesn't appear to be a fresh disturbance either. Which got me thinking, could it be the lost Shortman Cessna plane."

Arnold straightened, "How do you know of my parents again?"

Hugo cocked his head at the blonde as if it was the silliest question he'd ever heard. He smirked, "Your parents were very renown for their work with the green-eyed peoples of San Lorenzo," He explained, his voice carrying an air of reverence at the mention of Miles and Stella.

"Right," Arnold nodded.

"Where was I…oh yes, so I pulled out the map and did a little digging for their known flight pattern."

"And it matched the last known location?" Helga asked.

"No," Hugo replied, "This red line _here_ is the path that is believed they _could_ have been on. The dot _here_ is the disturbance in the photo."

Arnold frowned, "Okay, what am I missing? They aren't even close."

"My first thoughts exactly," Hugo nodded and turned, swiping his hand through his rucksack, pulling out a few papers and thrusting them in front of Arnold. They were photocopies of handwriting in what appeared to be a notebook of journal of some sort. "This is a copy of the air traffic controller's conversation with the Edwardo that night."

Arnold's eyes scanned rapidly through line after line, "Twenty-one hundred hours – aircraft GXR-B1 reports bad weather. Twenty-one hundred thirty four hours – aircraft GXR-B1 reports lightening strike. Instruments fried. Flying blind. Twenty-two hundred fifteen hours – GXR-B1 gone silent." He looked up at Hugo.

"If they were flying blind, it's very possible that they swayed from their flight path." He again pointed to the map, "The disturbance is 70 miles off track, it's possible that they could have gotten that far off flight pattern and gone down in that spot in the time between the second and third correspondence with the air traffic controller."

Arnold sighed and wearily looked back at Hugo, "Maybe but, if it's really this easy to connect the dots why hasn't anybody done it yet? Why has it taken thirty-three years to figure out what _maybe_ happened to them?"

Hugo shrugged, "That was the very end of a notebook that night for the air traffic controller. He threw it in a drawer and started a new one figuring that the aircraft would resurface by at _least_ morning. Unfortunately he was killed that morning on the way home and the journal was…forgotten."

"Wow…" Helga said in amazement.

Arnold was in his own world of thoughts, looking from the map to the photo to the journal continuously. He ran a hand through his blonde tresses and let it rest on the back of his neck, "You're sure that this is them?" he asked Hugo.

The dark haired man earnestly nodded, "I wouldn't be here, wasting your time if I wasn't sure."

"I have to go see then."

* * *

"Arnold you can't just go flying off into the jungle! That's ludicrous!" Helga was trying her best to reason with her husband. Arnold paced back and forth across their bedroom floor.

"I have to Helga. My entire life I've wanted to know, what if this is the chance for me to find out?" he counter reasoned, continuing his pacing.

"I know honey, but you don't know a _thing_ about that guy. He could be making it up. For all you know it could be some…cartel's crashed cocaine plane."

Arnold stopped and went over to her and took her hands, "But what if it isn't? What if it's really their plane? What if…I can finally have some closure?"

"Arnold…" Helga exhaled and looked him straight in the eyes, "I don't think it's a good idea."

"Why? Why isn't it a good idea?"

The truth was Helga didn't know why it felt like a bad idea, it just did. Her husband was merely asking to spend three weeks,_ tops_, in the San Lorenzo. What could go wrong with that? He needed closure, she understood that. It made her slightly ashamed. Perhaps she was being paranoid, perhaps she was being selfish and just a little monopolizing of his time, but something about the whole situation didn't sit well with her. His parents went missing last time they flew down there, what was to stop it from happening to Arnold?

That very thought alone scared the wits out of her. Maybe that was it. She was stricken by the idea of something happening to him in a foreign country, someplace where she couldn't easily get to him. "Oh Arnold," she sighed and looked away, "What if something happens to you?"

A small smile crept across his lips. He reached out and softly brushed the back of his hand over her cheek, "Nothing's going to happen to me. I'm tougher than I look."

Helga chortled breathlessly, but couldn't bear to smile. "You're a teddy bear." she turned, walked to the foot of their bed and sat down. She didn't understand how he could be so light hearted about it. Arnold followed, coming to kneel in front of her. His green eyes peered up into her beautiful blues, begging for her blessing.

"Baby, I promise, I'll be safe. Three weeks will fly by and I'll be back home with you and the kids before you know it. Stinky can hold down the business for that long so you won't have to fool with it. Please just let me do this."

Helga bit her lip, still very uneasy about the situation. But not wanting to be the one to dash his first real attempt at finding closure kept her from trying to persuade him anymore. With a sigh, she reached out and carded her hand through his golden hair, "Three weeks."

Her husband nodded. "That's all I'm asking."

* * *

**San Lorenzo**

Within four days, Arnold had made it down to San Lorenzo, where he spent the next week sitting in a hotel, waiting for the weather to clear up enough to even begin thinking about heading into the jungle. Hugo had suggested parachuting from a plane and hiking out, easily the quickest and most viable option, but Arnold wasn't very fond of planes to begin with and even less fond about the idea of jumping out of one with what he considered the equivalence of a rucksack stuffed with a tarp on strings strapped to his back.

Thank you, but no.

He would be hiking in on his own two legs and hiking out on those same two legs. If Hugo didn't appreciate the extra effort he didn't make it known to Arnold. Though, Arnold imagined that since he was cutting the checks that were funding the entire excursion-including employing Mr. Tabora as a guide through the jungle-he _wouldn't_ be hearing complaints.

Finally after being stuck in his hotel room for five solid days, the waterfall that had dumped from the sky finally eased. Enough for Hugo to consider it _safer_ traveling condition for their trek. Arnold laced up his boots, double checked his rucksack of survival items, threw on his camping hat-or Indiana Jones hat as his kids called it-and headed out to the drop of trail with that same queasy feeling that he got in public speaking class when he had to make speech. He couldn't explain it other than being caught in a paradox of wanting to know and not wanting to know.

A local man who Hugo seemed to know well carried the pair in his jeep up to a particular bend in the trail, the spot where they were to begin heading into the jungle. Hugo conversed briefly in the native tongue with the man before, patting the jeep's door a couple times. The local man waved good bye and sped off back down the trail. Once the jeep was out of ear shot, Arnold was left the exotic sounds emanating from the belly of the jungle, and it seemed to be even louder than the town. It was mesmerizing to him, and a little bit frightening. He'd been hiking and camping in the mountains of his own state, but never anything like this. There were very real dangers to be had in a place like this. Helga's words began hauntingly echoing in his ears. _What if something happens to you?_

The concern certainly had a lot more value now than he'd given it earlier.

Hugo had marched into the thicket of vines, trees and high shrubs and then turned around, giving Arnold a raised brow look, "Coming Mr. Shortman?"

The tall blonde man blinked and immediately began shaking his head, clearing his mind of all previous thoughts and nodded, "Yeah. Sorry," he swallowed and hurried into the veil of jungle behind Hugo.

* * *

It was hot, it was muggy, and there were insects the size of small animals, snakes on almost every tree and other creatures hanging from every canopy. Arnold had gotten thoroughly eaten by mosquitoes in spite of his religious use of repellent. He was sure he was sweating it off as fast as he applied it. Even more infuriating was watching Hugo's apparent immunity to the vicious little creatures. He swore that it was his leathery sun baked skin which made him too tough for their needley beaks to penetrate.

Arnold had never felt so itchy and soggy in his life, but he kept telling himself that it would all be worth it. It would all be worth it in the end, even if everything right then was damp and miserable. At night, Hugo made him hold his boots, socks and feet to the fire to dry them, citing that it would prevent trench foot. Arnold didn't even bother asking the details on that, already knowing that it was probably something he really didn't want to get.

Halfway through their journey they found a waterfall and Arnold couldn't help himself. He jumped into the spring it toppled into and took a bath, which was _incredibly_ refreshing in the never wavering hot damp heat. He subtly wished they could have stayed there a bit longer.

And then it happened. On day five of their quest they found what they were looking for. They could see the trees that had been thinned up ahead, though they began seeing the debris first. Facets of aged metal still scattered out like confetti on the jungle floor. Arnold nearly tripped over an old rusted wheel rim with tattered bits of rubber still clinging to it like flesh to bone.

"Look!" Hugo said, pointing.

Arnold looked up just in time to see Hugo sprinting towards the crash site. In his chest, his heart began pounding, jumping into his throat and ears. The queasiness was at its peak and he almost felt like he could throw up. His whole body was feeling numb. His legs were moving, he was walking, but he couldn't feel anything. There was a wing, sheared off and dangling in a tree, covered in decades of vines and filth, a victim of Mother Nature's unforgiving wrath. More and more debris was littering the path, like a bread crumb trail, luring him in a trap.

And then he felt the oxygen leave his body.

The hull of the plane was splayed out on the jungle floor, raked in dirt, rust and slithering vines that had wrapped around it, claiming it as property of the jungle. His eyes were darting all over in disbelief, and in their rapid flitters back and forth he caught the faint inscription on the side. Sun damaged and covered in dirt for sure, but enough to tell him what he needed to know.

_'R-B1'_

It might as well have been written with the biggest, blackest, boldest sharpie on earth. All of a sudden, he felt himself hurrying towards the plane as if it were an emergency, as if gravity had hooked him in the chest and was reeling him in. He let his rucksack fall to the ground in his hast.

It felt like a crisis, but there was no danger. Yet he felt that if he didn't get to that plane in the next few seconds, something would be lost.

"Mr. Shortman!" he vaguely heard Hugo yell. "You might not want to see what could be in there!"

He didn't care. Thirty-three years he wanted to know, and he couldn't spare a second more. He suddenly had never wanted anything more in his life and when his hand grabbed the handle of the Cessna's door; every memory of his childhood came flooding back to him. The days he would spend on the boarding house stoop longing for their return, the journal, his grandfather's plethora of stories that kept him hopeful.

With all his might, he pulled and pulled and pulled until the heavy metal door popped off its brittle hinges, eaten through by rust and fell to the side. What was inside mad his jaw drop. Hugo ran up beside him, eyes wide in astonishment. "It's…it's."

"Empty," Arnold said, breathlessly.

The cabin had aged, no doubt, ripped apart on the opposite side, but still in relatively preserved condition for a plane to have been sitting for thirty-three years. There were no remains, and even though Arnold knew that it didn't mean much of anything, part of him was thankful that the cab was empty.

As he looked continued to look around, his eyes fell onto a piece of yellowed parchment pinned to one of the disheveled seats towards the back, well away from the open parts of the plane. This interested him greatly and stepped inside to investigate further.

"Careful, Mr. Shortman!" Hugo warned, "If you hurt yourself we're five days walk from the nearest hospital!"

"I am," Arnold assured, "There is just something back there I want to see." he pointed to the piece of paper. With cautious steps, he crept down the fuselage, taking in the dank aroma that coiled up within its walls. He quickly and carefully plucked the piece of paper from the safety pin it'd been secured to the chair with.

"Hugo!" He called and hurried crept back down to the door. "Can you read this?" he shoved the paper in the man's hands and waited expectantly.

For a moment, the tanned skinned man closely looked at the faded text transcribed on the paper before finally clearing his throat. "To whoever should find this:" He began, "My name is Stella…"

* * *

**A/N: **Well, I hope that wasn't too boring. Every story has a setup, unfortunately this one has two. So what _really_ happened to Edwardo, Miles and Stella? And how is it all going to unravel Arnold and Helga's marriage? We shall see! Thank you again, my readers, for your continued support! I couldn't do it without you all.


End file.
